From Sweden With Love
by BathshebaRocks
Summary: A Dead Pan Contest entry, in the style of Ian Fleming. Sookie is lured into a deadly game of industrial espionage, where even top SPECTRE agent Eric Northman is not prepared for the intrigue and treachery that they face, or the threat to his cold heart.


**An entry from the Dead Pan Contest**

**Inspired by Ian Fleming's original James Bond novel: "From Russia with Love"**

**Thanks to for a wonderful piece of beta work, to VicVega66 for invaluable advice on essential features of a James Bond plot, and to Ms Lynx for the local Swedish colour. Despite their best efforts, all mistakes are mine.**

An AH story featuring, in various guises, Eric, Sookie, Bill and Pam. Special Guest Star Victor Madden.

Disclaimer: Based on the characters created by Charlaine Harris in the Southern Vampire Mysteries. Plot idea, and opening and closing sequence based on "From Russia with Love" by Ian Fleming. All rights belong to the respective authors and/or their estates.

A/N Some reviewers felt that the ending of this story left things too unresolved. The reason for this is that both the beginning and end of my story follow very closely the respective sequences from the original Ian Fleming novel "From Russia with Love". I decided to stick to his ending, even though it suggests that maybe Bill and Victor have won. On the other hand it does open up the possibility of a sequel…

I've tried in this story to combine classic elements of a James Bond story with important features of the SVM characters. Eric is probably closer to Daniel Craig than Sean Connery. There are a few in-jokes for Bond fans!

Lake Malaren, near Stockholm

A passing observer might have thought the body was dead. It lay face down on the sun deck outside the house. There was no movement, not even a sign of breath. There would be no witness though. The house stood alone, a concrete and glass box by the lakeside, and the only access was a narrow winding road.

The woman got out of her car. She carried a small bag with the tools of her trade. Her skirt was very short and her blouse hung loose. She walked towards the body, admiring his muscular back and powerful arms. He was a big man, in every sense. He lifted his head, shaking long blond hair out of his eyes. The woman stood over him and he caught a glimpse of red, bushy hair where her panties should have been. She stripped off her blouse, exposing her full breasts.

Taking the bottle of oil from the bag she coated her hands and began to massage the powerful muscles of his back. She moved down to his naked buttocks running her hands up the insides of his thighs, her touch light and teasing. It was a practiced routine that never failed to excite her clients.

As she anticipated, he was fully aroused when he turned over onto his back. She moved to straddle him. As her hands massaged his perfectly defined chest she rubbed herself up and down his length. She knew that he would let her continue for a few minutes and then he would force her down and take her. He liked to vary the position. He might push her down onto her hands and knees and take her from behind. He might let her sit astride him. He was an expert lover, the only one of her clients she would ever have considered fucking for no financial reward.

His only hint of tenderness would be to kiss and fondle her breasts. She knew he enjoyed her breasts; he had told her so. He liked that they were large, firm and completely natural.

The woman enjoyed her work for the most part. It was well paid, and she could turn down any client whose demands were unacceptable to her. Some wanted the pretence of feelings, but not this man, which her very well.

He rarely spoke to her. She did not even know his name. She did not want to know, but sometimes even she found his total lack of emotion disturbing. She was certain it wasn't a lack of opportunity that prompted this gorgeous man to seek her services. There must be something in his past that made him want a physical relationship without even the pretence of affection, let alone love.

The sound of a telephone ringing in the distance cut through the silence of the night air. The woman ignored it, continuing her attentions to her client. The phone rang on. He pushed her aside roughly and strode up to the house.

She sat for some moments watching him, her body aching with the frustration of unfinished business. She watched him begin to dress. Picking up the tools of her trade, she slipped on her blouse and headed to her car.

Inside the house, the telephone conversation was brusque. "You're needed at HQ. We've brought in an American woman. She turned up out of the blue to visit Compton. She is refusing to talk but P thinks you might be able to get the truth out of her."

"I'm on my way." He put the phone down and headed towards the garage.

The woman saw the headlights following her as she drove along the winding lakeside road. He overtook her on a hairpin bend, barely keeping his Corvette on the road. The woman laughed. She wondered what his profession was to make him so reckless.

The man who greeted him as he arrived at his destination was short and sweaty.

"I hope we didn't tear you away from anything important Northman," Madden said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The taller man shrugged. "Just my weekly massage, it's nothing. So what is so urgent?"

He looked through the one-way mirror into the interrogation room. A blonde woman sat at the table. Her hair was tousled and her dress torn, revealing a little too much of her ample breasts. She had scratches and bruises on her face and arms.

"Who the fuck did this, Madden? You know I can't work with them if they've been beaten up first." Northman's voice was cold.

"No one did it, she brought it on herself. She's a feisty little vixen you know, struggled every step of the way." Madden laughed, his lascivious gaze resting on the blonde's partially exposed breasts.

Northman shot him a look of disgust. "So what's the story?"

"She says she is from Louisiana, here on vacation, although her accent sounds too exaggerated to be genuine if you ask me. She's been staying with Compton and they appear to be lovers. She claims to be called Sookie Stackhouse, but we don't believe that it can be her real name."

Northman considered the woman through the glass. She was pretty, there was no doubt about that, despite her battered condition. She was obviously nervous, but that was to be expected, considering she was locked in the interrogation room. It wasn't designed for comfort.

"How long has she been here?" he asked.

"A couple of hours. We thought we'd let her sweat before we called you in."

"Right well let's get on with it. Close the screens."

The woman looked up as he entered the room. A shimmer of fear briefly crossed her face. He wasn't surprised; it was the effect he aimed to have. At well over six feet tall, and with a body of solid muscle, he could intimidate most people.

"You don't need to be scared of me, I just need to ask you a few questions."

Her face took on a look of defiance, but she said nothing in response.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you." He sat down and pulled his chair so close he could smell her perfume, and looked into her eyes. The woman tried to turn away, but his gaze held hers.

He dropped his voice to a low tone, speaking slowly and deliberately. "All I need to know is why you have come to Sweden. What business do you have with William Compton?"

"Why will no one believe me?" she responded fiercely "I told the others I'm just here on vacation. That's all." He expected her eyes to become glassy as he brought her mind under his control, but they retained their angry fire.

He was puzzled. Hypnotism was his special gift; he could always make a suspect talk. There had never been a suspect who could resist him before. This was embarrassing, that this blonde was impervious to his technique. She was obviously more than she claimed to be. "Fine, well if that's how you want to play it I will just have to find another way of getting to the truth." He got up and left the room, locking the door behind him.

"This is going to take longer than I thought, Madden. I don't want to leave her here I'll take her back to my place."

Victor scowled at him. He didn't like Eric Northman; he didn't like his arrogance, he didn't like his methods, and he _especially_ didn't like his success with women. If he were Head of Security, he wouldn't have to kiss P's ass, and he could throw Northman out of the organization. Perhaps one day, he thought, but in the meantime he had no choice but to let the special agent continue.

"Look, I know what I'm doing. She's not going to tell us anything if she's scared. I've got better ways of making her talk."

"Yeah right, we all know about that, don't we."

"Don't worry. It's all in the line of duty." Northman smiled arrogantly. He was well aware of Madden's dislike, and never missed an opportunity to piss him off.

The woman slept as he took the long road back to his lakeside retreat. His home was chosen for privacy and security, both essential in his profession. This made it an ideal location to continue his interrogation. He would use a different approach with her, one that rarely failed.

He looked at her sleeping form, admiring the voluptuous body clearly visible through her torn and disheveled dress. He smiled to himself; this was going to be one of his more pleasurable assignments.

She was still half asleep as he lifted her from the car and carried her into the house. Her anger flared with the realization of where she had been taken.

"I demand to see the American ambassador. You can't kidnap me like this, I'm a US citizen."

"I'm afraid when it comes to matters of security we can do what we like. Our government has agreements with your CIA you know. Now you must be hungry. Let me make you some supper."

She reluctantly admitted to being ravenous. "I haven't eaten since breakfast. I was just going out shopping when your goons grabbed me. I could really do with something else to wear as well, since my dress is obviously ruined."

Northman smiled. He had been enjoying the exposure and ignoring her discomfort. "I'll get you a clean shirt. Would you like to take a shower?" She nodded her acquiescence and he led her to the bathroom.

He settled himself on his large leather couch. He had designed the house himself to suit his personality. It was modern and sparse. Dramatic, but not uncomfortable. The living area took up most of the ground floor. Glass windows on two sides gave a magnificent view of the lake. The furniture was simple, but luxurious, made by Sweden's finest designers and using only wood and leather of the highest quality. One wall was dominated by a huge plasma screen TV, while two large speakers were the only evidence of the state of the art sound system. Another wall displayed his private collection of Swedish art. The works were dramatic and challenging, including the rock-star work of his favorite, P Gron.

In the centre of the room was a fireplace, open on both sides. The evening was cool after the warmth of the day, and he lit the fire while he waited for her to finish eating.

"Have you got a comb?" she asked as she joined him in the room, "I need to get the tangles out of my hair."

He returned from his errand to find that she had settled herself on the rug in front of the fire. He gazed at her dispassionately. She had the curvaceous body he admired in a woman. The glow of the fire lit up her golden skin, and caught the highlights in her hair. A smile played across his lips. Interrogating her was going to be a pleasure.

She combed out her hair, uttering little squeals of pain and grimacing occasionally as she hit a tangle. There was a time when a woman like her could have attracted him, he thought, before his heart was hardened by bitter experience.

"Its all very well staring at me," her voice interrupted his train of thought, "you could offer to give me hand."

"I'm a special agent, not a hairdresser," he grumbled.

She finished her task and turned to face him, lying on the rug with her head propped up on her elbow. "I'd really like to know what I'm doing here," she said, trying to sound braver than she felt. She was grateful that he hadn't done anything yet to take advantage of her, but she felt very vulnerable, alone with this man in splendid isolation.

"As you are my guest, I think you should start," Northman said with the appearance of courtesy. "How do you know William Compton, and what is your business with him in Sweden?"

She sighed gently and began her story.

"I met him in Bon Temps."

Northman looked at her quizzically.

"It's my home, a small town in Northern Louisiana. He came into the bar where I work. I had no idea he was anyone important. He told me his name was Bill Compton and that he was in town with a trade delegation."

"So, without knowing anything more about him than that, you went to bed with him."

"It wasn't like that, you make it sound as if I'm some kind of whore and I'm not. He was just real sweet, such a gentleman. He took me out for meals and bought me flowers. Most of the guys in Bon Temps don't go in for that sort of thing. Anyway, he said he had to come back to Sweden as he had a contract here, and he asked if I would come to visit him. He even offered to pay my travel expenses. I've never been abroad before and it sounded exciting, so I agreed."

"I find it very hard to believe your story" Northman said with a snort of derision. She couldn't fool him with her sweet, innocent act. It should make it easy for him though, if she could fall for Bill Compton, seducing her would not be much of a challenge.

She glared at him. "And I don't understand why my relationship with Bill Compton is any of your business."

"We work for the same organization, officially at least," he replied. "One of our conditions of employment is that any relationships with civilians have to be vetted by the head of security. When you turned up out of the blue, naturally we had to check it out."

"So why not check it out with him?"

"Oh don't worry," Northman replied with a knowing smile, "we are covering all angles."

"How long are you going to keep me here?"

"Until I'm satisfied . . . that you are telling me the truth." He paused mid sentence, raking his eyes up and down her body, making her blush.

"People will wonder where I am. Bill will look for me."

"I think not, my dear. He has received a message that you have been called back urgently to the US. A sick grandmother, I understand. Your belongings have been removed from the hotel and safely stored at the airport."

"You people are the ones who are sick," she spat angrily.

"Our project is too important for the lives of one or two individuals to get in the way," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

"What project? I have no idea what you are talking about."

He considered briefly how much to tell her. "Our organization, SPECTRE, is a highly secret research facility. We develop products for the international intelligence community. We have the support of our government when we need it, but we operate independently so they can deny everything if things go wrong."

She giggled before saying, "SPECTRE? What sort of a name is that? It sounds like something out of a James Bond movie."

"It is taken from James Bond movie. 'From Russia with Love' actually. It was a favorite of our founder, Dr Freudenstein. It was his little joke to use the name. In many ways he was a deeply serious man, completely devoted to his goal of using technology to build bridges between nations, but he had been rejected for a job by his own country's intelligence agency and I think that rankled with him."

Sookie tried to concentrate on what he was saying, although she was not sure it made much sense.

"We are working on a project which, if successful, could make the Internet obsolete," he continued. "Unfortunately, there are others who would like to get there first and use it for their own ends."

Sookie looked at him, the confusion she was feeling showing very clearly in her face.

"So who are these others?"

"An organization called THRUSH."

"No way," she interrupted with a snicker, "you have got to be kidding me."

"I assure you my dear I am deadly serious. The organization started off as a trade network of some of the developing nations; China, India, Brazil and others. It was all perfectly above board to start with, but it has now come under the control of people with darker motives."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

"There are some things that haven't changed since the Cold War. We know THRUSH want to infiltrate our organization to try to access our secrets for their own use. What better way than to find a beautiful woman to seduce one of our agents? They have tried this before," he said with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"And you think I'm that woman?" she sounded incredulous.

"It is possible, yes." He chose his words carefully. "We know that we have a potential traitor in our organization, someone who has made tentative contacts with THRUSH. If he can be seduced or blackmailed, that will be all they need to turn him." She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest as if to protect herself from what she was hearing.

"William Compton is not known as a ladies man," he continued, ignoring her pained expression "Our organization monitors all our employees closely and since he joined us he has never been known to have a lover, male or female. Then you turn up out of the blue. I'm sure you can understand why we were suspicious."

"So what exactly is this big secret project then?"

"If I told you that, I would have to kill you." His voice was light but the look on his face was serious. "You must be tired," he continued, "let me show you to your room. Perhaps by morning you will reconsider and tell me the truth."

Once he was alone he mixed himself a dry martini, shaken not stirred, as Dr Freudenstein had taught them. He and sat outside on the deck, ignoring the chill in night air.

He could feel his mind traveling to a time and a place he didn't want to visit. It was here on this deck, what seemed like an eternity ago, that he had taken a woman as his lover. She told him her name was Lynette, but that was a lie. Everything she had told him had been a lie. Except, perhaps, when she told him she loved him. Sometimes he could almost believe that was true. It wasn't enough, though; he had betrayed him.

The only true fact he knew was her code name. _Lambretta_. It had been his first failure, and a serious one. If P had not supported him, he would have been terminated.

That woman had been voluptuous, like the little American now sleeping in his guest room, although she was taller and her hair was long and dark. Her cover story had been completely convincing, her scientific credentials impeccable. He had been assigned to check her out. Though he thought he had done it thoroughly, she somehow managed to hide the truth from him. Her cover was blown eventually. She was with him in this house the night they came for her. He had tried to save her, even though he knew she had betrayed him. He had offered to give up everything to help her escape, but she had thrown it back in his face. Even after she rejected him, he had tried to save her from drowning as her attempt to flee across the lake failed. Her face still haunted him in his dreams, as it slipped down into the icy depths.

He would never make that mistake again. Now, when he wanted sex, he paid for it. He had his masseuse, and a high-class agency in Stockholm. There was the occasional free perk on the job too, of course. He smiled, thinking of the woman sleeping in his guest room. As far as perks went, he anticipated she would be a good one.

He was already in the kitchen when Sookie woke the next morning. He was wearing only a pair of sweat pants. They hung low on his torso, barely skimming the top of his crotch, very effectively drawing attention to what lay beneath. She strolled into the room still groggy from sleep. All she was wearing was his big, white shirt, which hung down almost to her knees.

"What a wonderful smell. I really need a coffee and …" her sentence tailed off as she took in the sight of his muscular torso and the low slung pants.

"Like what you see, sugar?" he smirked, impersonating her southern drawl.

"Not particularly," she responded, sounding unconvincing even to her own ears.

"We are going to be here for some time. We need to find some way to keep ourselves entertained," he said as he suggestively raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you think of me, but I'm not that kind of woman. I don't just jump into bed with anyone."

He smiled and reached up to the coffee mugs on a shelf level with his head, stretching his muscular torso for her benefit.

"It's a beautiful day. We could sit out on the deck if you like. I'm sorry I don't keep a supply of women's clothes but I'm sure I can find something for you to sunbathe in." She wanted to say no, but she did so love the sun. She nodded reluctantly.

He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a black vest and some black silk boxer shorts. "You could wear these if I pin them up."

She looked disgusted.

"They are clean," he chuckled, and she realized it was the first time she had heard him laugh.

"You need sun cream," he said as she settled onto one of the loungers. Without giving her a choice he sat down beside her and began to rub cream into her arms and neck. "Turn over," he said, and she shifted onto her stomach. He worked upwards from her feet and ankles with firm and practiced hands. As he reached the top of her legs his touch became lighter and more teasing. He lingered slowly, his fingers skimming under the hem of the shorts she was wearing.

She tried to maintain her focus and not to succumb to the flood of sensuality that was threatening to overwhelm her at the feel of his hands and the thought of what they could do. He moved closer to the tops of her thighs and it was all she could do not to wriggle with desire. She should pull away and slap him, she thought, but unfortunately her body had intentions all of its own.

It was clear he was intent on seducing her. She needed him to believe that her story was the truth, but it was obvious he would not let her go until he was satisfied. It would be so easy to surrender to her physical desire, and besides, who would need to know? Once she was safely home in Louisiana it would be forgotten.

For so many years she had wondered if she would ever be able to take a lover. It was not through lack of desire or excessive prudishness that had kept her celibate. The problem was her unusual ability to hear people's thoughts. It was like a constant stream she could not shut off. Then one night Bill Compton had walked into her bar. She had noticed him at once, of course. His dark and brooding looks attracted the attention of every woman in the place. What made him so special for her was that she could not hear anything that was going on inside his head. She had the occasional glimpse, but for the most part he was silent to her, unless he chose to speak. In her excitement, she had blurted out her secret to him. When he made his interest in her clear, she did nothing to resist him.

She hadn't understood at the time what made him different from all the others, but now she thought it was because of his profession. This man, Eric Northman, was the same. She could occasionally sense some hint of emotion, but no clear thoughts. Perhaps the self-control and deception they both practiced in their everyday lives extended to the ability to control their unconscious selves. At least, she couldn't think of any other explanation.

She had taken Bill Compton as her lover, and it had been wonderful. He had awoken desires in her that were stronger than she could ever have imagined. Now she felt them spring to life again, urgent and demanding.

She turned and looked up the man whose teasing hands were causing her whole body to tremble with desire. The message in her eyes was clear. He bent down to kiss her. He ran his hands through her golden hair. Neither of them said a word. He loosened the pin holding up her shorts and stripped off the vest she was wearing. Her hands reached for the waist of his sweat pants and pushed them down.

She seemed willing, eager even, but he could sense a deeper reluctance. He was no stranger to cruelty, but he would never hurt a woman, or force her against her will. That was a point of principle for him. Breaking hearts was another matter altogether, that came with the territory.

Her kiss was tentative at first, but she responded as he increased the pressure. He trailed kisses down her body, lingering over her breasts, sucking and flicking with his tongue until she was moaning with pleasure. He could feel her beginning to lose control as he settled his mouth between her legs. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him back up her body.

He positioned himself above her, resting on one elbow while his other hand tested her readiness. He made love to her slowly at first. She urged him to a faster pace, wrapping her legs around him and raking her nails down his back. He complied willingly, thrusting into her deep and hard. She cried out with pleasure as she reached her climax. He moaned deep in his throat as he met her with his own completion. He held her for a long time afterwards, kissing her face and neck, and gently stroking her.

Now that he had worn down her defenses and sensed she was relaxed, he began his questions. "Tell me about yourself?" he asked, as she lay sated in his arms.

"There isn't much to tell really. I live in Bon Temps with my grandmother. My parents died in an accident when I was seven, so my only other relative is my brother, Jason."

"What does he do for a living?"

She smiled, thinking of how Jason passed most of his time. "Well, when he's not in the bed of some woman or other, he works for Renard Parish, supervising the road crew."

"Is that a good job?"

"It is if you haven't got a college education. The pay isn't great, but at least he gets health insurance, which is more than I have."

"You seem like a bright enough woman, how come you're working in a bar?"

"There's nothing wrong with bar work," she said indignantly. "How else would people like you get a drink? Besides, I couldn't go to college either. Money was too tight, and someone has to stay home to look after Gran."

"Have you had many lovers?"

She flushed red at his unexpected question.

"Bill, I mean William Compton, was my first."

"I'm surprised, an attractive woman like you can't have been short of male attention."

"Well I…" she began, then checked herself. She couldn't let him know her secret. "Bon Temps is a small town, I didn't want to get a reputation as a slut."

She hoped he wouldn't be able to tell that she was lying. She'd had so much practice in hiding the truth from people, it had become second nature to her. She didn't know why she had told Bill or why she felt the urge to tell this man now. She didn't think that revealing her secret to him would be a good idea; after all, it was her involvement with Bill Compton which had landed her in this situation. If anyone else found out it would certainly make things worse.

She reached up to stroke his hair, hoping to get him off the subject. It was a strange battle of wills between them; played out on the sundeck, the couch in the living room, the bed. If he could use sex to try to get her to talk, Sookie thought, why couldn't she use it to try to distract him? Besides, if she was playing a role she could let herself surrender to him without worry or guilt. It wasn't hard to do, he exuded an effortless sensuality.

Northman was quite content to play the game for as long as it took. If he could get her to relax enough, she might give herself away. All his experience told him she was hiding something, but he could not fathom what it might be.

In between their bouts of sex, Northman focused his efforts on probing her views and opinions, seeking the key to the mystery. He easily established that she had no real interest in current affairs. "We followed your recent election with great interest in Sweden," he commented, aiming to provoke a reaction from her.

"I don't pay much attention to politics. I know some people in Louisiana weren't keen on the idea of a black president, but I think he's pretty cool. His kids are so cute, and Michelle has got great style."

She confessed to not even owning a computer and rarely using the Internet. He began to wonder if she was actually telling the truth. Perhaps she really was as naïve as she appeared. If that was the case, his mission was over and he could send her back to the States.

She finally succumbed to exhaustion, leaving him free to go down to down to the underground bunker that housed his communications centre. It was built to survive a nuclear bomb; he sometimes wondered what it would be like if he found himself the only survivor of a holocaust. He was very used to being alone, after all.

Miss Cash came on screen as he called up the link with HQ. He had slept with her once, as he had with all the secretaries, but luckily she retained a soft spot for him. "P is waiting," she said, "I'll get her on for you now."

P appeared on the screen wearing her trademark Chanel suit. She could have been mistaken for the Head Girl of a particularly select ladies boarding academy. A fine mind and fierce determination had propelled her to the position of Head of Security with SPECTRE, despite the handicaps of her age and sex.

She and Northman had been lovers some years ago. They now maintained a relationship of harmless flirting. Gossip swirled around her. Men said that she had slept her way to the top, but the truth was that she preferred the company of women. Northman would tease her that he was in fact responsible for the switch. After having experienced him, no other man could give her satisfaction.

"You must be losing your touch Northman," she said sarcastically, "two nights with the woman and you haven't found anything."

He glared at the screen. "There was nothing to find. I think she is what she says she is. Compton met her on his trip to Washington DC, they became lovers, and he invited her to Sweden to visit him."

"So why didn't he report this through the proper channels?"

"Who knows," Northman mused, "perhaps he was embarrassed, or simply forgot?"

She raised her eyebrows in a gesture of disbelief. "Or perhaps he is hiding something. We know there is a mole within the organization, could it be him?"

"It's possible; anything is possible, but I am certain that the girl was not sent by THRUSH, or anyone else, to seduce him."

"There's still something not quite right about this." P mused thoughtfully. "Compton was on a trip to DC. Why on earth would he make a detour to northern Louisiana? New Orleans, maybe, but not some small town that's not even on the map. There is something here, and we just haven't found it." They remained in silence for several minutes, considering the options.

It was Northman who spoke first. "Perhaps we have been looking at this from the wrong angle. We thought it was about Compton, but what if it's about the girl?"

P appeared intrigued as she took up his theme, "You could be right. We thought she was sent to get something from Compton but perhaps it was the other way around. What if Compton is our mole and he is trying to get something from her?"

"I don't see what that could be. I mean she's attractive enough, but everything about her is quite ordinary. She works in a bar in a small town. From what she's told me I can't see that anyone in her family is important enough to warrant the attention of her own government, let alone an international criminal conspiracy. She didn't even go to college. I haven't found out anything unusual about her."

"You haven't found out yet, you mean. I think there is something about her that we don't know. If there is, I'm sure you're the man to uncover it," she said with a knowing smile. "Perhaps you need to observe her on her home territory. What do you know about this place Bon Temps?"

"It's one of those American small towns with two thousand residents and two last names." They both sniggered at his joke. "The nearest place of any account is Shreveport."

"Well, I think you should go back with her to the States. It would be wise to ensure she gets home safely, and once you are there, we can work out a cover story for you to stay." She turned away from the main screen to search for something on her computer. "Hmm, as I thought, there is a US airbase near Shreveport. I'll call up my contacts and get you an attachment there."

Northman sighed inwardly. He was happy in Sweden, he didn't like the States, and he certainly didn't relish the idea of spending more time with Sookie Stackhouse. She had an effect on him that no woman had for many years, not since his betrayal. Certainly the sex was amazing. Considering her inexperience she was both enthusiastic and creative; he would have no problem enjoying more of _that_. But he could tell that she was the kind of woman who would demand an emotional engagement, and that was a place he was not willing to go.

"Are you still with me, Northman?" P's haughty tones brought him back to reality. "I've booked your seats for tomorrow, first class of course, and I've made sure you get a little privacy. Oh and by the way, don't let on that there is any suspicion attached to Compton; if she does know anything, we don't want to alert him," and with that, the screen went dead.

A man stepped out of the darkness in the corner of her office. "Do you ever tell the truth to anyone, P?"

"Not the whole truth, of course not. Besides, Northman doesn't need to know that we sent Compton to find the girl in the first place. I still think she is the one we're looking for, and if she is, I'm sure one of them can seduce the truth from her. I thought a little healthy competition might help."

"What happens if Northman gets too close to her? You're taking a big risk considering what happened before."

"Please don't worry yourself about that, Madden. I have all the bases covered, as our American friends say. Now get Compton for me."

Madden left the room, returning a few minutes later with the dark and handsome business negotiator.

"I need you to go back to the States, Compton."

"I thought our mission was finished. The Americans have agreed to all our terms and the contract is signed."

"That's not the mission I have in mind," P said, a dangerous smile playing across her face. "I need you to find out more about Miss Stackhouse for me. She will be on her way back to the States tomorrow. You will leave tonight and be ready to meet her in DC as soon as she arrives."

Compton sighed; "Do I really have to do this? I have no time for the woman, she is so naïve, and her accent irritates me beyond belief. Besides I thought Northman was dealing with her now."

"He has been, but I'm not sure I can trust him. I'm worried he might be developing feelings for her. We can't risk a repeat of his last disaster. I'm sorry, but you have to go. Victor will organize your travel arrangements."

In his lakeside retreat, Northman passed a restless night. He woke early and watched the blonde woman as she slept. She was as sleek as a little cat. He felt the smallest pang of guilt for what he was going to do, but brushed it away effortlessly.

She woke and stretched her arms, reaching out to touch his cheek. "Who is Lambretta?" she asked.

His whole body stiffened. "Why do you ask?"

"You woke me in the night, I think you were having a nightmare. You were struggling like a drowning man, and calling out a name."

"It is nothing. Just someone I used to know."

She moved to stroke his chest, but he seized her hand roughly and pushed it away.

Before she could react, her ears were assaulted by the sound of a klaxon. The bedside lamp flashed red beside them.

"Shit, there's someone coming, we have to get out of here." Northman threw her a shirt and grabbed his own jeans and t-shirt, along with a small travel bag that was hidden under the bed. He grabbed her hand and dragged her down to the underground garage.

Sookie followed his lead, jumping hastily into the passenger seat of the red Corvette. As the garage door lifted, he punched a number into his carphone.

"P, there's someone after us!"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, they triggered the early warning system."

"Okay, get to the airfield, I'll have a plane ready for you."

Sookie tugged at his sleeve, indicating her partially dressed state.

"Oh, and P, can you get some decent clothes for Miss Stackhouse?"

He snapped the phone shut and concentrated on the road ahead, his foot pushing the pedal to the floor. Sookie saw the glare of headlights in the side mirror. She thought she could make out two cars behind them, and they were gaining on them. She gripped the door handle and closed her eyes as the Corvette picked up speed. There was a crash; she was showered with glass as the rear window collapsed. Eric reached out and pushed her head down towards the footwell.

She curled into a fetal position, glad that she couldn't see the road ahead as the tires screeched. They must have joined a highway, as she could hear cars and trucksand feel the sickening jolts as Eric recklessly weaved in and out of traffic.

"You can sit up now, I think we've lost them."

She could see what looked like a huge fireball in the rear view mirror.

"Could we slow down now?" she asked, trying not to sound as shaken as she felt.

"I don't want to take a chance. We need to get to the airfield as soon as possible. We'll be there soon." He reached out and stroked her hand in a rare gesture of tenderness.

He didn't bother to stop at the airfield gates, crashing through and racing across the tarmac to the waiting plane. Its engines roared into life as they ran up the steps to the door.

The flight attendant who met them was almost as tall as Eric, and just as blonde. She obviously recognized him and her smile was seductive.

"Eric, it is such a pleasure to see you again, what can I get you?" She glanced dismissively at the girl who had boarded with him.

"We will have champagne I think, Eva, and I believe you have some fresh clothes for Miss Stackhouse."

Sookie opened the bag that the blonde woman handed her, and looked admiringly at the black slacks and sleeveless white ruffled blouse. "Your boss has good taste," she said smiling at Eric.

"P has had the jet fitted with a bedroom, if you'd like to join me." Eric said as she returned from the bathroom.

"I'm fine sitting, thank you," she said firmly.

"Well at least join me for a glass of champagne."

She smiled and accepted his offer. She was surprised to find how quickly the champagne went to her head. He put his arm around her and gently pulled her down to rest on his shoulder. It was the first truly peaceful moment she had experienced in days. Cautiously, she opened her mind to his thoughts. What she found going on inside his head sent a familiar hot flush coursing through her body.

In his imagination, he was slowly undoing the buttons of her blouse, and then shucking it off her shoulders. He peeled the straps of her bra down allowing him to bend down and kiss her breasts. She could almost feel the sensation of his mouth licking and sucking her. She had to fight back the urge to moan out loud. His mental attention shifted to his hand, which was stroking the inside of her thighs. The pulsing between her legs grew more urgent as the power of his imagination aroused her. She was thankful that the cabin lights were dim; she felt hot enough to light up the room.

She glanced at him. His eyes were closed, but a smile flickered across his mouth. He looked contented, an expression she hadn't seen before. She tried to remind herself that she didn't like him; she most certainly didn't trust him. This wasn't a romantic novel, she reminded herself, the kind where the tough hero turns out to be vulnerable when the right woman comes along.

Nevertheless, the temptation to lean in and kiss him, to make the transition from fantasy to reality, was almost overwhelming. Only the presence of the flight attendant, hovering between kitchenette and cabin, prevented her from giving in to desire.

His thoughts became weaker and more erratic as exhaustion caught up with him. Closing her eyes she also gave into to the urge to sleep.

She woke up to find Eric no longer beside her. He must be in the rest room, or stretching his legs, she thought. The blond stewardess had gone as well, replaced by a young man.

"Excuse me," she asked him, "have you seen my companion?"

"You're the only passenger. I thought you were some celebrity, Lady Gaga or someone."

"I can't be the only passenger. I boarded with Eric Northman, he's tall and blond, you can't miss him."

"I'm sorry sugar, I can show you the passenger list." Sure enough she was the only name on it.

"Where's the stewardess who was here before, the Swedish girl?"

He gave a pointed glance at the empty champagne bottle that lay on the seat next to hers.

"Listen sweetie, I know flying can be really stressful, but I'm the only flight attendant on duty today. With only one passenger we didn't need a full crew. Listen you better get yourself tidied up, we'll be landing in thirty minutes."

She stared at him her face showing her shock. "Thirty minutes, but we only took off an hour ago, there's no way I have slept that whole time."

The steward pursed his lips, and glanced again at the champagne, but said nothing.

Somehow she made her way through immigration control, collected her baggage from the carousel, and got through customs. She tried to make sense of what had happened. Could Eric Northman really have treated her so carelessly? She knew that he was a hard man and that what had happened between them in Sweden was just business to him, but even so, his ruthlessness shocked her. Though she had never thought him capable of feeling, she thought he at least had some integrity, and men of honor do not drug women and leave them alone to fend for themselves.

She had no idea how to get back to Shreveport, but if she could find a phone she could call Sam, or Jason, and one of them would be able to help her arrange a connecting flight.

As she pushed her trolley out into the arrivals lounge the line of chauffeurs and greeters grabbed her attention, each with their sign trying to attract their customer: 'Apple'; 'Hilton'; 'MOMA' 'Allergan'; 'Robinson Party'; 'Sookie Stackhouse'.

She walked right past it at first, then did a double take and turned back. A black man in a smart suit and dark glasses was holding a sign with her name. "Um, I'm Sookie Stackhouse," she said nervously.

"Yes ma'am," he responded, "you look just as I expected. Mr. Compton said to look out for a gorgeous blonde, and he wasn't wrong."

"William Compton, is he in New York?"

"No Ma'am, he's in DC, but he made arrangements to collect you. I have a car waiting outside."

She was so grateful to be rescued that she did not stop to consider how Bill Compton knew when she would be arriving in New York.

"Wow," was all she could say as she arrived at the luxurious suite at the Eldon. "I wanted the Hay-Adams," Bill laughed, "but I couldn't get the security clearance."

"I'm just so glad to see you, I'd happily sleep in a barn," she replied.

He could almost feel sorry for her, he thought. She was a pawn in a bigger game, and she didn't even realize it. He put an arm round her and kissed her on the cheek. Inwardly he steeled himself for the role he was about to play.

"I'm so glad to be of service. I missed you when you left Sweden so suddenly," he said, running his hands up and down her bare arms. "I was looking forward to getting to know you better."

"Why didn't you tell me about this organization you work for?" she asked as she ran her fingers through his dark hair.

"Does it bother you?" he shrugged in response.

"It bothers me that you didn't tell me the truth."

"I didn't think it was important. It was only when you disappeared without warning that I realized how much I missed you. When P told me you were coming back to DC, I offered to meet you. I wanted to see you again." He bent down to nuzzle her neck and trail kisses across her cheek.

He was a gentle and considerate lover, she thought as they lay together in the bedroom. True, he sometimes seemed a bit too practiced, almost as if he was following a manual. A traitorous memory of the intense pleasure she had experienced with Eric forced its way into her consciousness but she suppressed that thought as she luxuriated in his attention to her body. At least Bill Compton actually cared about her and it wasn't just a game to him. She lay back on the couch, her eyes inviting him to continue.

The urgent ringing of his cell phone interrupted her pleasure. She sighed as he picked it up and got out of bed. He glanced at the caller ID and paced naked into the main room to answer it. When he returned his face was full of concern.

"I'm sorry darling, but I've been called to an urgent meeting. I was hoping we could go out to dinner later though, if you are not too tired."

She nodded her acceptance. "I am hungry, and that would be lovely."

Could you come and meet me in the Convention Centre car park? It's just over the road. Look for a black BMW." He jotted down the registration number. "I have a reserved space Row 18c. I should be finished by six thirty so we won't eat too late."

"That's fine, I'd like to take a bath and freshen myself up."

The car park seemed very empty as she walked down the ramp. The attendant's booth was empty and there was no one else around. Most of the cars had gone so she spotted Bill's rented BMW easily. She was humming to herself as she walked towards the car. She never heard the footsteps behind her. By the time she sensed the looming presence behind her it was too late. Muscular arms grabbed her from behind, and a damp cloth was shoved over her mouth.

When she came to she was aware of painful pressure all over her body. She had no idea for how long she had been unconscious. She was tied to a bench, bound and gagged. All she could move was her hands and feet, connecting with the cold metal surface on which she was lying.

There was someone else in the room; she could hear the sound of breathing. It was a man. She could smell his cologne, the faint scent very familiar, but she couldn't place it. She tried to focus her mind and suddenly the image of her blond lover appeared in her mind. _What on earth is he doing her_e? She thought.

She needed to attract his attention and somehow get him to reveal his thoughts to her. Perhaps if she made some noise: She wriggled her body as hard as she could, moaning through her gagged mouth. It was enough to get a reaction.

_No, that can't be her. Please God._

Sookie wished she had paid more attention when they learnt basic Morse code in Girl Scout camp. She had managed to loosen her feet just enough to tap on the bench. She tried to remember a signal. 'Bang, tap, bang, bang, bang.'

_That's weird, it sounded deliberate_. _Is that 'no' in Morse code?_

'Bang, tap, bang, bang, bang,' she knocked again.

'_It is, but surely it can't be her._ _Sookie is that you, can you hear what I'm thinking?'_

'_Thank you Jesus_!' she thought.

Bang, tap, bang, bang, bang.

_Listen, I'll find a way of getting us out of here. Just stay calm and follow my lead_.

She heard a door swing open and the clack, clack, clack of high heels on a polished floor. Whining noises seemed to come from some kind of animal. She wasn't surprised to hear a woman's voice. It was deep and sultry with the tones of the South.

"Well, well, well, Eric Northman, we meet again. It's always such a pleasure."

_Le Clerq_, _you evil_ bitch_.'_

Sookie would have smiled at his thoughts if she could have moved her mouth.

"And this must be Miss Stackhouse. You have caused us a lot of trouble, my dear."

_Just stay calm, she is volatile, so don't upset her_. _We believe she is the Head of THRUSH. We know they have their US base just outside DC. That must be where we are_.

She tried to recall some of the adventure movies her brother Jason had loved when they were teenagers. How would James Bond get out of this situation?

Small hands removed the blindfold from her face, and the gag from her mouth. Stretching her facial muscles to relieve the pain, Sookie turned as far as she was able to look at the woman. She was dressed in red satin, with six-inch stiletto heels, and she carried a small dog.

The woman shifted her attention to Eric, removing his gag.

"Le Clerq, I should have guessed you were behind this. The girl is innocent. She knows nothing. It doesn't matter what happens to me, but let her go."

"I'm sorry, Northman, but I'm afraid the girl is the one we are after. Having you is just an added bonus."

"Ma'am," Sookie tried to maintain the politeness her grandmother always insisted upon. "I really don't know what you want with me, but couldn't we discuss this in a more civilized fashion? I am really desperate to use the ladies room. If you don't untie me, I am going to pee all over your floor."

_That's pathetic! She'll never fall for that._

"Miss Le Clerq, please, I can't hold out much longer."

Sophie-Ann reached for a buzzer on the table. The door swung open and a short man entered.

"Madden," Eric's tone reflected his shock.

"What's the matter Northman? You think you are all so clever: P, you, Compton, but none of you suspected a thing."

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your reunion," Sophie-Ann drawled. "Madden, untie the girl and take her to the bathroom."

Sookie shivered as he gripped her arm to help her off the table. She remembered him ogling her, back in that interrogation room in Stockholm. She had been able to read his thoughts then, and they weren't pretty. She focused her attention on his mind.

_She's such a hot piece of ass; maybe I'll get myself just a little taste. There's nothing she can do about it, after all_.

She was ready for him as they entered the bathroom. She waited in the stall until he had begun to undo his pants, and then rushed him, kicking him hard in the groin. She grabbed his gun and hit him over the head.

She crept back down the corridor and slowly opened the door into the interrogation room. Sophie-Ann had her back to the door, and she was leaning over Eric, taunting him in a low voice.

The little white dog ran across the room towards Sookie, yapping angrily. She bent down to pick it up, causing it to bark more fiercely.

Sophie-Ann turned and glared at her.

"Release him, or I kill the dog." Sookie's anger overcame her fear.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Do you want to try me?"

They stared at each other in silence. Sookie tried to catch Sophie-Ann's thoughts, but she was blocking them. Her anger was clear from her face, but also confusion. How could this American girl, this nobody, get the better of her?

She turned back to the table and, very slowly, began to untie the bonds holding Eric Northman down. He was on his feet in an instant and this time it was Sophie-Ann's turn to be held against her will. Sookie released the dog and crossed the room swiftly to hand him the gun.

Northman pushed the gun into the small of Sophie-Ann's back. "You're going to lead us out of here. One word, one sign that anything is wrong, and you die. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but you should understand that this is not the end, Northman. I am a patient woman, and I will have my revenge on you, you _and_ the girl."

Sookie could feel her heart hammering in her chest as they made their way through the corridors. The back alley was dark as they left the building. Eric pushed Sophie-Ann to one side, grabbed Sookie's hand, and they ran.

"There's a SPECTRE safe house on the outskirts of the city. If we can hail a cab we should be able to get there in thirty minutes."

Sookie collapsed into a chair as soon as they entered the house, overwhelmed by the combination of exhaustion and terror. Eric looked at her with concern. "Would you like me to run you a bath?"

She nodded. "A gin and tonic would be great as well," she added.

"It's alright, I'm decent," she managed a faint laugh as he brought her drink into the bathroom. The bubbles covered her body like a 1950s film star. "Sit with me, I need to understand what has happened." He complied and pulled a chair into the room.

"I'm not sure myself. I thought Compton was the traitor in the organization, but I was wrong, it was Madden. P played me off against Compton. It's possible she suspected Madden all along and used us both as bait."

"Would she really be that devious?"

"Yes, I'm afraid she would. She is totally devoted to SPECTRE; she has no life outside it. She would do anything to achieve her aims, and she wouldn't care who got caught in the crossfire either."

"So you think Bill Compton is innocent?"

"Maybe, maybe not. None of us are really innocent, after all."

She looked at him thoughtfully, surprised at the sadness that showed in his eyes. Perhaps she had misjudged him. She had thought him incapable of feelings, but the man sat with her now had an emotional depth of which she had not been aware. She felt able to open up and share just a little of her feelings.

"I thought you'd abandoned me, on the plane," she swallowed hard.

"I was careless, I let myself be distracted. My feelings for you made me vulnerable. Madden set a trap for me and I just didn't see it coming." He didn't look happy at the disclosure. Feeling his discomfort, Sookie changed the subject.

"Hand me a towel will you, I'm wrinkling up like a prune in here." He stretched the towel out, holding it up for her to step out of the bath, then wrapped it around her keeping her in his arms for just a little longer than was necessary. She dried herself and found a bathrobe, then followed him back into the main room. He had stretched his long frame out on the couch, arms behind his head and his feet hanging over the end. She sat in the armchair opposite, her legs resting on the ottoman, mirroring his pose.

"You still don't trust me." It was a statement more than a question.

"Can you read my thoughts now?" she said, smiling.

"No, but I can read your face. That is my job after all."

He raised himself up off the couch and moved to stand behind her, massaging her neck and shoulders with his powerful hands. He bent down to nuzzle her ear. "Come to bed with me?"

"Having sex with you isn't going to make me trust you," she said quietly.

"We're not going to have sex," he responded as he took her hand and led her into the bedroom.

He proved it by making love to her so tenderly and so expertly that she thought she would pass out with the pleasure of it. He lavished attention on her body, stroking and kissing all those tender places. He used his hands, his mouth and finally his whole body to bring her to completion, taking her to the edge and then over in a wave of golden passion that she never wanted to end.

When they had finished he lay back on the pillow with a look of complete satisfaction on his face.

"I guess you'll be going back to Sweden," she said, unable to hide the sadness in her voice.

"I'm not sure. I don't know what there is for me there now. P clearly doesn't trust me."

"Could you stay in the US?"

He hesitated before continuing. He knew now what he wanted, but it was a big risk.

"It's possible. I have contacts here. I've had job offers before. I may look into it."

**Two weeks later**

Eric Northman sat on the balcony of his apartment in Shreveport, his body bathed in the last rays of the evening sun. He listened to the water cascading in the shower and Sookie singing off-key. His hand twitched involuntarily against the pocket of his shirt.

Tonight they were going out dancing and he was going to ask her to marry him. He knew people would think he was crazy, but in his profession he was used to making snap decisions. He knew when something was right, and this was so _very _right.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the knock on the door at first. It became more insistent. Sighing, he rose to answer it. He stepped back in shock at the person he found there.

"I'm surprised to see you here Compton?"

"I don't see why. We are in the same boat after all. P used both of us to further her own ends. I hear you're planning to stay in the States. I might do the same, so I thought perhaps we could support each other."

Northman waved him into the room, accepting his outstretched hand as he entered.

He never felt the prick of the needle as it entered his skin. He was surprised to feel himself going cold. Numbness crept up his body. Breathing became difficult. He found himself slumping against Compton, who guided his unresisting body towards the door.

"Where are we going?" He could barely get the words out.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, old sport, but you have nothing to worry about. I'm going to take you to a safe place. Madden has made all the arrangements, you will have food, drink and beautiful women."

Northman felt his knees begin to buckle.

He said, or thought he said "I've already got the loveliest. . ."

Then his legs gave way and he crashed to the floor.

Health warning. You will notice that no one in this story uses condoms when they have sex. This is because you won't find Ian Fleming's James Bond worrying about such a thing, but please don't try this at home.


End file.
